Word Count: 649

I'm sorry I missed yesterday. I really want to say I had an excuse, but I genuinely just forgot to log on. Oops?

~ Chapter 13 ~

If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, your future or anything else, what would you want to know?

"Oh, Merlin, no, nothing," Harry said, shaking his head. They were sitting on the steps at the back door. It was a nice night, but Harry couldn't be bothered conjuring seats when there was no sun to bathe in. "I'm good. I've had enough fortune telling mumbo- jumbo controlling my life."

Draco frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Voldemort came after me and my parents because of a prophecy that was made before I was even born," Harry said softly, his voice travelling in the darkness. "So I'm good with never dealing with any form of crystal balls, or divination, ever again."

"I… didn't know that," Draco admitted. "That's gotta suck."

"It really does. So… would you want to know anything?"

Draco tilted his head slightly. "I'd like to know if there's happiness in my future," he said eventually. "Not what, or how, or even when. I'd just… like to know that it's worth it—to carry on, you know?"

"You're the only one who can make that a reality," Harry said quietly.

Draco swallowed hard and nodded. "You're right. I just… I guess I don't know what happiness looks like anymore."

"You'll have fun finding out," Harry pointed out.

Chuckling, Draco nodded.

"So… I assume, since you're named after something up there, that you know about the constellations and such?"

Draco frowned. "Of course I do."

"Tell me a story."

"A story—Potter, the stars don't tell stories."

"Draco. Tell me a story about one of the stars."

"I…" Draco cut himself off and then nodded. "Yeah, okay. Do you know the story behind Orion's Belt?"

Harry shook his head. "No. Tell me."

…

Harry woke up to the sun streaming through his window and the realisation that he'd slept the whole night through without interruption.

A first, for sure.

He smiled when he remembered the night before. Draco had spent almost two hours telling him the origin stories of the stars, and even if he'd made some of them up, like Harry suspected he had, it had been a nice evening.

Stretching, Harry took a moment to enjoy the luxury of a full night's sleep before he climbed out of bed. Showering quickly, Harry dressed in shorts and a t-shirt and padded downstairs.

He wasn't the first up, which made a change, and the sight he faced when he stepped into the kitchen was one that he thought could power a Patronus.

Draco stood in front of the cooker, with one hand on the frying pan. Not hugely shocking, except he was covered in what looked like pancake mix and there were various fruits scattered all over the counters and the floor.

Harry tried not to laugh, he really did, but if he'd have bit his bottom lip any harder he'd have bitten right through.

A snigger broke free first, though it was followed quickly by a wave of hilarity as Draco flushed bright red. When Draco joined in the laughing, Harry only got worse, and it didn't take long until he was shaking his hand, turning away so he didn't have to look as Draco spelled himself—and the walls, floor and cooker—clean.

"I can't breathe," Harry complained, still chuckling as he pressed a hand to his ribs. "What on earth were you trying to do?"

"I… You've done practically all the cooking since you got here. I wanted to make breakfast."

"Aww."

Harry wanted to bite the word back as soon as it left him, but thankfully, Draco just rolled his eyes.

"Do you want me to teach you to make pancakes?"

"Or you could just make them since you're up?" Draco suggested hopefully.

"I mean, yes. But I'll teach you to make them while I make them. Square deal?"

Draco smiled. "Deal."